


Locked Doors

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Gen, M/M, SORRY THIS ONE ISN'T FUNNY, also alcoholism, but sometimes he's bad at showing it, enjolras loves his friends, grantaire has a cat named cat, grantaire is the big brother gavroche always wanted, mentions of abuse, really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no describing Grantaire sometimes. Grantaire simply is, and Enjolras gravitates toward him, no matter how infuriating he can be, no matter how far he pushes Enjolras. Enjolras is dangerously close to orbiting around him entirely and he’s not sure if it’s something he wants to halt. The thought of Grantaire walking away makes him feel like he’s missing his ribcage, and so honestly, Enjolras doesn’t much care if he wakes the entire fucking city getting him to turn around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked Doors

When they were still in high school, Eponine used to sneak out of the house and walk down the four streets until she found Enjolras’ house. From there, she’d climb the tree near his bedroom window, and once she got to the top, she’d throw acorns at his window until he woke up, opened it, and helped her inside. Without a word, he’d close the window behind her and crawl back into bed, making room for Eponine, and they lost count of the number of times his mother came in to make sure he was awake to find the two of them curled up together.

The first time it happened, she sat them down and gave them a safe sex talk. When it happened another few times, she just made Eponine a key.

They’d planned on living together when they got to college, but it turned out that it would be less expensive to just live on campus, and so Eponine got a dorm and met Cosette, and Enjolras got a tiny apartment and had a second key made for Eponine, as always. When Jehan moved in their second year it was only after Enjolras ran the idea past her, and she was so attached to Cosette at this point that she wanted to keep living with her.

Eponine never has to use her key, though, because Enjolras never locks his door. Since getting that apartment, he hasn’t. He carries his laptop with him everywhere and the most valuable thing in that apartment is his CD collection of great French operas, but besides that, the apartment is never empty.

Marius stops by to do his homework between classes, because Enjolras’ textbook collection has everything he’d ever dream of needing. Courfeyrac and Combeferre come by to talk about Les Amis and to flirt with Jehan until he goes as red as his hair ribbons. After the bet, Cosette comes by simply to sit on Enjolras’ bed and paint her toenails while regaling him with stories of what she’s learning in her gender studies classes and what’s Enjolras’ opinion on this or that discussion that was had. Every Sunday, Bahorel shows up around eight in the morning with four bags of groceries and makes a big enough breakfast to feed everyone at the college; Les Amis always come by for Sunday breakfast, talking and laughing and generally making too much noise while Enjolras, still in yesterday’s tee shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, drinks coffee and sits on the counter and watches them with an expression somewhere between exasperation and genuine affection. It’s one of the only times that they see Enjolras totally relaxed. He will work through sleep, he will work through class, he will dedicate his entire life to his cause, but for those couple of hours on Sunday mornings he belongs to his friends.

It’s Grantaire who spends the most time in Enjolras’ and Jehan’s apartment, though. Eponine’s lost count of the number of times she came over in the morning to find Grantaire asleep on the couch, probably trying to sleep his way through a hangover, with a small stack of clean clothes next to him and a blanket tucked around him. The first time this happened she’d tried to ask Enjolras what happened but he’d shushed her for being too loud.

It is distressingly easy for Les Amis to joke that their fearless leader is soulless and only cares about his social revolutions (and his increasing celebrity crush on the entirety of Anonymous) but a few of them are one hundred percent aware that Enjolras loves them, the little shits. Eponine asked Jehan once what it was like living with Enjolras, and Jehan just replied that it felt like he’d moved in with all of his friends, not just one.

\------

One of Enjolras’ many qualities, though, is the ease with which he is cruel. Maybe it’s because they all joke that he hasn’t got a soul, but when pushed too far he snaps back as viciously as any of them could imagine. The part about it that hurts the most is that he never seems to enjoy his cruelty, or even to spit it out in a passionate rage. Everything he says when he gets like this is calm and cold and completely calculated to make the listener bleed.

Grantaire tends to be on the receiving end of this cruelty more than any of the rest of them combined. It’s usually a reaction, a response to one of Grantaire’s endless jabs, but they rarely, if ever, match up to Enjolras’ response.

They’re discussing Gavroche’s involvement in the group. By all logic he shouldn’t be involved at all—he’s a freshman in high school, but he’s Eponine’s little brother, and he has a tendency to tag along to meetings. Enjolras has known him, quite literally, since he was born—and he’s a tiny blond revolutionary in his own right. So if the kid insists on coming, and he’s really so dedicated to the group, Enjolras sees no reason to bar him from coming to meetings. It’s not like he could stop him, anyway.

That’s the thing: they can’t stop Gavroche. He’s old enough to find some way to do what he wants whether or not they want him to, and if there’s a fourteen-year-old running around doing activist work, it seems like it would be a better idea to simply let him tag along, however reluctantly. At least this way, they can keep an eye on him.

Grantaire is not paternal. The closest he comes to being paternal is the relationship he has with his cat, a violent, mangy looking thing he simply calls ‘cat’. Cat started out a really attractive kitten but once left in Grantaire’s care realized that his goal in life was to be a dog, and took to rolling around in mud whenever possible, getting into endless fights, and viciously attacking Enjolras at nearly every opportunity. Either way, the list of adjectives one could use to describe Grantaire is one lacking the word ‘paternal’.

He’s got a soft spot for Gavroche, though, and it’s one none of them expected. Gavroche’s first cell phone is a gift from Grantaire, when Grantaire figures out what the Thenardiers are like. Gavroche spends hours talking to Grantaire, who stops whatever he’s doing to talk to him, and on more than one occasion Grantaire has kicked everyone out of his apartment so he could go pick Gavroche up from whatever seedy goings-on the teenager’s gotten into this week.

So when Gavroche announces that he wants to tag along to a demonstration in the city, Enjolras hesitates, Eponine opens her mouth to refuse, and Grantaire replies, “Absolutely not, kid.”

Had anyone else said that Gavroche would have pushed, but it’s _Grantaire_ , and Gavroche doesn’t argue with Grantaire, so he accepts it with a scowl, but at least he accepts it. Enjolras is watching Gavroche with a curious expression, and before he can say a word, Grantaire just shakes his head, his glare deadly.

After a while, Gavroche heads home, and the second he’s out of the café Grantaire turns to Enjolras with eyes like fire.

“You’re not letting him come to that demonstration.”

Enjolras and Eponine share a look and Enjolras shakes his head. “He’s old enough to decide what he wants,” he insists. “He’ll do it anyway.”

“People get _arrested_ at those,” Grantaire snaps, closing his laptop and setting it down on the table in front of him. “The cops will not hesitate to beat the shit out of a kid if he’s there. So unless you’re getting him a fucking helmet and one of those wrist leash things so that he can’t run off and land on some asshole’s wrong side, he’s not coming.”

Eponine opens her mouth to argue, but Enjolras holds a hand out to stop her. “You could always come and keep an eye out for him.”

“I’m the least responsible person in this room and you want me keeping an eye on him?” Grantaire practically spits this, his voice venomous. “You don’t even trust me with fucking pamphlets and you’ll trust me with a human being.”

Enjolras makes a point of considering this and deciding it’s a bad idea. He doesn’t stop and notice the color rising to Grantaire’s cheeks, nor does he realize that Cosette is pressing her hand against Grantaire’s to try and get him to stop, or that Jehan is hiding his face in Courfeyrac’s shoulder. This is promising to be one of their grander arguments, and someone’s going to get hurt. As per usual.

“Shouldn’t we let him make his own decisions?”

“He’s _fourteen_ and he thinks himself invincible. What do you think he’d do if he saw a cop going after his sister?” _He’s an abused kid and we’re not putting him in a situation to get hurt more,_ he seems to be saying silently, but he won’t say it out loud, out of respect for Eponine or Gavroche or both.

“He’s got to learn what this is like sooner or later,” Enjolras protests, and Grantaire scoffs.

“Fine, great, we can just throw him at a fucking response team or something and see how he handles it,” he retorts, his words dripping with sarcasm, and Enjolras presses his lips together and regards Grantaire coldly.

“We could always get him drunk first.” His tone is dry, and he raises his eyebrows. “Maybe then he’d be more useful.”

Their end of the café is painfully silent. Marius halts his nervous conversation about bake sales with Bahorel, and Cosette looks at Enjolras as if he’s just slapped Grantaire. A large portion of Enjolras immediately regrets the words—there are some things that are off limits. Grantaire’s alcohol problem is one of them. If they talk to Grantaire about his addiction (and it is, one hundred percent, an addiction) they do not do so accusingly.

Grantaire’s face goes pale, paler than Enjolras has ever seen it, but he stands. The hurt is evident in his face and for a moment Enjolras wonders if Grantaire will hit him. Almost without realizing it he turns his head slightly, as if to offer a target, but instead Grantaire clasps his hands over where a romantic might draw a heart and bows low.

“My sincerest apologies, Apollo,” he responds, his tone curt, and he turns and gathers his bag and leaves the café.

They watch in stunned silence as Cosette scrambles off the sofa to follow him, and watch through the front windows as she grabs his arm and pleads with him. He takes her face in both hands and kisses her forehead before flicking her nose with a bitter smile, and walks away.

Everyone gets up to leave after that, and it’s only when everyone else is gone that Enjolras realizes that Grantaire left his laptop.

\------

 **Enjolras:** R, you left your laptop at Musain.

 **Enjolras:** It’s at my place.

\------

Their meeting is on a Thursday. Enjolras can’t sleep and after his initial texts to Grantaire go unanswered, he simply assumes that Grantaire needs a bit of time and some space away from them. Enjolras can’t blame him. He’s reeling; the guilt for what he said is eating away at him from the inside out.

At four AM on Friday morning, Enjolras logs into Facebook—which he uses primarily to share news links—and spends the next six minutes staring at Grantaire’s profile. No updates since before the meeting. Same with Grantaire’s blog. He picks up his phone to try calling Grantaire before remembering what time it is and setting his phone down; he’s too exhausted for any of this. For all of this.

He spends the night staring at his ceiling and finally falls asleep around six, able to catch a couple hours before class. Class is spent with him checking his phone almost obsessively.

Still no response.

\------

 **Enjolras:** Hey. Still have your laptop. Do you want me to drop it off at your place?

\------

Friday passes with no response. Bordering on desperate, he calls Grantaire twice, once from his phone and once from Jehan’s; both go straight to voicemail. He calls Eponine and Cosette picks up; before he can try and say anything Cosette is practically screaming at him.

“ _I cannot believe you! How could you ever say that to him! You’re supposed to be his friend!_ ”

He wants to snap back but this really is his fault, and so he just sits there and listens as Cosette rails against him.

“ _And you are; I mean, it’s obvious, you love all of us but you have a soft spot for him and don’t you dare try to deny it._ ” Here she uses Enjolras’ full name, middle name included, and Enjolras is honestly impressed at her dedication. Even Eponine doesn’t know his middle name. “ _And then you throw that in his face. How dare you? Have you even apologized yet?_ ”

“He’s not answering my calls,” Enjolras sighs, and he sounds as exhausted as he feels. “That’s why I’m calling. Have you talked to him since yesterday?”

“ _No_ ,” Cosette answers, and she sounds worried.

“Right, sorry. Thank you.” He hangs up before Cosette can say anything else.

\------

 **Enjolras:** I shouldn’t have said what I said. I didn’t mean it.

 **Enjolras:** I shouldn’t have said it even if I meant it. That was horrible of me.

 **Enjolras:** I fucked up.

\------

Dr. Lamarque stops by the apartment Saturday afternoon to bring Enjolras the small stack of books he keeps promising to loan him and forgetting to bring in. Lamarque is old, older than Dr. Valjean (Cosette’s father, and head of the history department), but when you get him started on a topic about which he’s passionate he seems barely older than Enjolras himself with the fire in his eyes. They get along beautifully.

The only thing is that Dr. Lamarque’s never come by Enjolras’ apartment before.

He doesn’t know the rule about always keeping the door unlocked.

He probably doesn’t even realize he’s locking it before he leaves and closes the door behind him.

\------

 **Enjolras:** R, if you won’t talk to me, can you at least just let someone know that you’re alright?

\------

After some borderline frantic texting that Enjolras somehow manages to make seem nonchalant (ish), and determining that Grantaire has been in contact with Courfeyrac and Gavroche, at least, he curls up in bed to try and make up for lost sleep.

Something wakes him up a little past three that morning, though—something that sounds like the insistent turning of a locked door. Which is ridiculous, because Enjolras doesn’t lock his door. Ever.

Still, the sound continues, until finally there’s a dramatic sort of thump, and Enjolras finally gets out of bed to go let whoever it is in. (It feels vaguely like something’s dropped into the pit of his stomach at the thought that maybe the mystery midnight visitor could be Grantaire.) When he gets to the door, though, it won’t open.

This is getting ridiculous and Enjolras is really way too tired for any of this bullshit. He tries again. Locked.

Which is impossible, because Enjolras doesn’t lock the door. Ever. And neither does Jehan.

Enjolras is suddenly very awake with the memory of Dr. Lamarque’s visit and suddenly he’s scrambling to unlock the door and it’s so loud that he’s sure he’s going to wake Jehan (which he doesn’t have to worry about, honestly. He once stood outside Jehan’s room and sang all of Joanna’s parts from Sweeney Todd and didn’t wake him). He throws the door open and steps out, only to see a vaguely familiar shape with hunched shoulders and inky curls vanishing through the door to the stairs.

“Grantaire!” he hisses, but the sound doesn’t carry fast enough to catch him before the door closes and the familiar shape is gone.

\------

 **Enjolras:** I don’t know why the door was locked. That was you, wasn’t it?

\------

Considering the hour, Enjolras should probably be a little quieter, what with all the doors he’s opening and slamming shut and the fact that he’s kind of _pounding_ down the stairs, but he really couldn’t care less. He’s wearing Jehan’s shoes because they were the nearest to the door and he’s got a random flannel shirt that he’s pretty sure used to be Bahorel’s pulled on over his tee shirt and between the floral of Jehan’s shoes, the plaid of his pants, and the plaid of the shirt, if anyone were to see him right now they’d probably never take him seriously again.

Cosette was right. Enjolras loves his friends. Enjolras loves his friends with a fervor that’s honestly almost embarrassing. He’s not sure he’s capable of loving them with anything less than that fervor. He is devoted to his cause, and he constantly defers to the ‘bigger picture’, but if it came down to it he’d throw his life down for a friend in a heartbeat. But Grantaire… Enjolras’ feelings regarding Grantaire have honestly always made him almost uncomfortable. They’re fierce, protective, and downright overwhelming. If he was one for overly romantic metaphors, he’d call Grantaire clean air in a city filled with smoke. But he’s not one for overly romantic metaphors.

There’s no describing Grantaire sometimes. Grantaire simply is, and Enjolras gravitates toward him, no matter how infuriating he can be, no matter how far he pushes Enjolras. Enjolras is dangerously close to orbiting around him entirely and he’s not sure if it’s something he wants to halt. The thought of Grantaire walking away makes him feel like he’s missing his ribcage, and so honestly, Enjolras doesn’t much care if he wakes the entire fucking city getting him to turn around.

Grantaire’s not in the ‘lobby’—which is in reality just a glorified hallway—nor is he outside the apartment building, and Enjolras spares half a second’s thought to ‘do I really want to venture into the public looking like I just jumped four different hipsters?’ but he goes out and sees the same shadow as before just about to turn a corner. He stops, takes in a breath, and shouts, “ _Grantaire!”_

The inky-haired shadow stops almost nervously, and Enjolras jogs over to where he’s standing. It’s starting to get a bit cold, what with it being winter and all and his flannel not being as warm as he’d like, but he has more important things to think about right now.

It’s definitely Grantaire, at least, and he’s drunk, but it’s not as bad as it normally is. Enjolras reaches out almost tentatively to rest his hand on his arm, frowning. “I don’t know why the door was locked,” he says after a moment’s pause, during which Grantaire just looks down at the hand on his arm.

“Clearly, someone locked it,” Grantaire answers, and he’s not slurring quite as much as Enjolras might have expected, and there’s almost an amused glint in his eyes.

Enjolras concedes that with a nervous grin, and he chews the inside of his cheek before speaking again. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Forget it, Apollo. It’s over and done with.”

“No, it’s not,” Enjolras insists, and Grantaire looks surprised. Enjolras takes advantage of this opportunity and just keeps talking, and he’s not sure if everything he’s saying makes sense but he just keeps going.

As long as he talks, Grantaire won’t leave, and the longer Grantaire stays there, shivering on the sidewalk next to him, the better the chances of Enjolras making him believe that he really, truly is sorry.

“What I said, I—I said it to hurt, and I didn’t think that it actually would. I didn’t mean it. I _don’t_ mean it. And I understand you not talking to me after that, and I don’t blame you for being hurt. I never should have said that, anything like it.”

“Apollo, seriously,” Grantaire cuts in, frowning more and more. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not even a little bit fine, R.”

“I can’t be trusted with pamphlets; I shouldn’t be trusted with a kid. I’m more dead weight than anything to the group and you really don’t need me there.” Enjolras opens his mouth to argue and Grantaire shakes his head. “Don’t deny it. It’s true, we both know it.”

“You’re right,” Enjolras says, surprising Grantaire further. “We don’t need you there. I _want_ you there.”

Grantaire doesn’t have a response for that and instead just raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes in surprise.

“Come on. It’s cold. Come inside, _please_.”

Of all the things for Grantaire to do Enjolras is not expecting anything kind. He almost wants Grantaire to hit him. Instead, Grantaire looks back at the hand on his arm before suddenly surging forward, and before Enjolras really knows what’s happening there’s a pair of shaky arms around him and Grantaire’s practically hiding his face in Enjolras’ shoulder.

It takes a moment but Enjolras returns the embrace. They stand like this for a moment more before Grantaire seems to realize what he’s doing and starts to pull back, but Enjolras tightens his grip on his friend almost desperately, one hand on the back of his head and his fingers curling almost unconsciously into his hair, and Grantaire freezes.

After a minute more Enjolras releases him. “Do me a favor?” he asks quietly, and Grantaire nods.

“Anything,” he answers, before one corner of his mouth quirks up in a sarcastic smile. “Polish your boots.”

Enjolras doesn’t respond to the jab, just chews the inside of his cheek again. “Come back inside. It’s fucking cold and you’re gonna need your laptop eventually.”

“One condition,” Grantaire says seriously, and Enjolras nods. “Gav’s not coming to that fucking demonstration.”

\------

When Bahorel comes in to make breakfast Grantaire is asleep on the couch and Enjolras is sitting on the counter, his legs tucked under him and a cup of coffee next to him, with a massive book in his lap. “Try not to wake him,” he mutters to Bahorel, who just nods, looking relieved that they’ve worked everything out.

Grantaire is awake by the time the others start arriving, and seems admirably adjusted considering the pounding headache he has—Enjolras just wordlessly holds his cup of coffee out for Grantaire before sliding off the counter to pour himself more. The rest of Les Amis pour in, as they do every Sunday morning, and they all seem as relieved as Bahorel to see Grantaire there, laughing and helping cook and stealing Enjolras’ second cup of coffee when his runs out.

Eponine thinks that maybe Enjolras isn’t paying very much attention to his book—he hasn’t turned a page in almost ten minutes now, let alone torn his eyes away from Grantaire sitting there in one of Enjolras’ shirts—but she doesn’t say a word.

**Author's Note:**

> -I'm really sorry! I wanted to do something else that was funny but then E/R and apparently they can't ever be happy anywhere.  
> -that hug was one hundred percent borrowed from this cast https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sJmp5yjZHtY  
> -I'll be amusing next time. I'M SORRY.


End file.
